


Blue

by juliafied



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Happy Fenris (Dragon Age), Mild Sexual Content, POV Fenris (Dragon Age), Romantic Fluff, True Love, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:35:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28034751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliafied/pseuds/juliafied
Summary: Fenris and Felissa Hawke spend some time in a quaint cottage by the sea. Because if you’re in hiding from the Chantry, why not do it somewhere relaxing? Fluffy domestic bliss. Some mild NSFW.
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke, Fenris/Hawke (Dragon Age)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Blue

For ambiance:

[Jimi Hendrix – Little Wing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fl-rYuI1-0w)

[John Lunn, Eivør - Lívstræðrir](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T7VqRWD9mKE)

[Atlantic – Sleeping at Last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ByqDXru-lw) (discovered from [loquaciousquark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loquaciousquark)’s recommended listening in [Invicta, Invictus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5736415/chapters/13218469) – all those songs are so good!)

* * *

Fenris was fairly certain he had never seen water this blue.

To be sure, the water on the beach near Danarius’ summer house outside Vyrantium had been pretty enough, a sparkling sort of turquoise, and much too warm in summer to swim in enjoyably.

Kirkwall’s harbour had housed water that was rich navy blue, impossibly deep and foreboding. The constant layer of clouds overhead and stench of fish and grime had not helped with its ominous atmosphere, putting Fenris in a foul mood whenever their activities took them to the docks. He had been happy to leave its waters behind, watching the chains and the statues grow smaller and smaller as Isabela’s ship bore them away from the splintering city.

Here, on the beach by their cottage a day’s ride north of Wycome, the waves that lapped at the warm yellow sand were so canonically _blue_ , so impossibly azure, that Fenris thought that whoever had invented the name of the colour must have defined it based upon this particular stretch of the Waking Sea coast. It was the sort of blue that drew you in to stare at the rich beauty of the colour; the rhythmic sway of the waves kept you there, enraptured, until the sun had gone down and it was time for supper.

Greeted with the sapphire of the water on their first morning there, Felissa had simply hmphed and declared, “My mother always said she wished my eyes were this colour,” and stalked back to reach Varric’s letters.

She had been angry with him at first, of course. A week’s sail to Wycome after both Orsino and Meredith lay dead in the courtyard of the Gallows, then a day’s ride to a secluded cottage arranged for by raven. The whole ride, Hawke had clung to Fenris the whole time, repeating, “I should be there. I should be _helping_.”

When their feet had finally touched solid ground on the little path to the cottage, Fenris had said, not unkindly, that perhaps they had done quite enough. This had earned him several days of curtness, glares, and frustrated recitations of correspondence long since out of date.

Now, as he gathered driftwood, lazily staring at the sea breaking against the sand, the salt of his earlier swim drying in his hair, he was comforted by the knowledge that he had been right. As Varric’s most recent correspondence described, Kirkwall had been plunged into chaos, and that connections were beginning to be drawn between the notable absence of the city’s Champion and the rather unceremonious disposal of the psychotic Meredith. Therefore, the best place for Hawke was indeed a secluded cabin on the Waking Sea, drawing the attention of no one but the occasional wild grouse, which could be used to cook a rather tasty stew.

This self-imposed exile had really helped Felissa develop hobbies, such as cooking and anxiously monitoring her correspondence.

It had been good for them in other ways, too; once the shell-shock of _what the fuck just happened_ wore off, and the sharp edge of grief at the decision Hawke had had to make about Anders had dulled somewhat, they started having the most sex they had ever had in their time together. It made sense, as there wasn’t much else to do; you could only go for a swim, practice your swordplay forms, re-read your favourite poems so many times before you got bored.

Fenris couldn’t have anticipated the unparalleled delight of languorously exploring the extent of his body’s pleasure with a person that he trusted so absolutely, loved so deeply that he could let go of any fear and just _be_. Their moments together in Kirkwall, though the sweetest he had ever known, had always felt stolen from their real lives somehow, always another mission on the horizon, always another enemy to hunt down. Here, in the four walls of the cottage, all that seemed to matter was him, her, and what felt _good_.

He quirked a smile at that, thinking about the sweaty mess he and Hawke had been that very morning before he left her, asleep once again, to cool off in the ocean. Donning his discarded shirt, he picked up the last of the driftwood, headed up the path towards the little house, such as it was, all pale yellow stucco, vines spiderwebbing up towards the red terracotta shingles of the roof. He set down the wood next to the oven, set in the middle of the roofed, outdoor kitchen. Peeking into the bedroom to see that Felissa had gone somewhere, he fetched a pitcher from a cupboard and went to pump the well next to the little cottage. He drank deeply from the pitcher, savouring the cool, refreshing water, and wiped his upper lip.

“Look what I found!”

Hawke emerged from the nearby woods, proudly holding up three grouse. “Flames, am I ever glad Father taught me how to set snares. You know I’m useless with this bow.”

Fenris chuckled and held out the pitcher as she dropped the grouse on the little wooden counter next to the oven. “Congratulations,” he said with a wry grin.

Hawke took it gratefully and drank. Her loose linen shirt stuck to her torso in places, and sweaty tendrils of curly hair escaped her usually austere bun, which he reached to brush away from her face. Her free hand darted up to meet his, and he cupped her cheek tenderly, wrapping his hands around her waist. She leaned into him as they shared a kiss, warmth spreading through his chest. Eventually, she drew away, and-

“Mmph. You’re salty.” Her nose wrinkled.

He arched an eyebrow and brought his head to nuzzle at her shoulder. “So are you.” Even sweaty as she was, he could breathe her musk forever.

Felissa placed a tender kiss on his temple and extricated herself gently from his embrace, taking his hand instead. “I’ll have to wash later. I still can’t believe those runes Sandal gave us. Thought a warm bath would be kept from me for a long time yet.”

Fenris recalled the young dwarf pushing them into Felissa’s hand as they stood in the doorway to the Amell estate, bags loaded onto a cart. “Enchantment,” he had said soberly. Hawke’s eyes had filled with tears, and she gave Sandal’s hand a squeeze.

He wondered whether the Feddics had found it prudent to stay in the estate since their escape, after all. He made a mental note to inquire about it in their next letter to Varric.

Hawke led him towards the kitchen, where she set the half-full pitcher next to the birds. “You hungry yet?” she asked, as Fenris leaned against a post. He considered the bread and jam he had had an hour or two ago.

He shook his head. “I was thinking we might go for a swim together.”

Felissa smiled wickedly, then made a show of gasping. “My, my, ser, but you are most forward.”

He caught her laugh in his mouth, kissing her in earnest now, softly biting her lip, causing her breath to hitch. “I might be,” he murmured into her ear after pulling away, her hands in his hair. “You’ll have to swim with me to find out.”

With a grin, he dipped his fingers into the pitcher and flicked water into Hawke’s face, whose expression changed quickly from pleasant to mildly astonished. “Fenris!” she called indignantly, but he was already running towards the beach, stripping his shirt and then his trousers, finally leaving his slippers and then his smalls in the sand. He glanced over his shoulder; Felissa followed close behind, struggling out of her linen shirt and stopping to throw her leggings onto the grass.

With a delighted laugh, Fenris dove headfirst into the clear, bluer than blue, sea.

A splashing, yelling Felissa soon joined him, wading after him as he stood gloriously, water up to his waist, rivulets streaming down his chest, as he watched the sun catching on the sparkling crests of waves in the distance. He turned to watch her, in turn, and was greeted by her body launching into his own as she leapt to embrace him.

They both went down. He dove under to swim out further, Hawke following him, and when they emerged, the water was neck-high, the gentle waves lapping at their chins as they stood on their tippy toes. Felissa jumped up into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist, demanding, “Carry me!”

And so he did, not before reaching to give one of her bare breasts a squeeze, of course, and with a quick, “Ready?”, he inhaled sharply and brought both of them underwater.

His eyes opened, and so did hers. For a moment, while they were underwater, time seemed to stop: Hawke’s dark curls floated around her, liberated from the messy bun, her cheeks comically huge with the air she had gulped before going under. The pale glow of her skin, though darker now from time spent in the sun, looked otherworldly in contrast to the incredible blue all around them.

She mouthed something with a wide smile. He shook his head, grinning, and she responded by floating back up towards the surface, and towards where they could stand more comfortably.

“I _said_ ,” she murmured, drifting back to him, hands clasped behind his neck, “that I love you, you absurd, wonderful man.”

He smiled lazily, suddenly aware of the fact that this time of theirs, together in the sun and the sea, with little to care about but when to cook the grouse and whether their post was arriving, would before they knew it come to an end, as most things did.

“And I you, ridiculous, irresistible woman that you are.”

At that, he pulled her close, and drank deeply of the blue water of the moment, reeling from the headiness of it.

This soon could end.

But whatever followed, he’d face it at Hawke’s side.

**Author's Note:**

> Canadian winter has arrived and seems to conjure up thoughts of beaches, warm sand, and blue water, apparently...


End file.
